


and the sun turns to knight

by unhonorable_but_mentioned



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Inspired by A Knight's Tale (2001), Knights - Freeform, M/M, Middle Ages
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:46:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22988821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unhonorable_but_mentioned/pseuds/unhonorable_but_mentioned
Summary: *Loosely based on A Knight's Tale (2001), though no background knowledge is needed to read this fic*John Watson and fellow squire Gregory Lestrade embark on a journey most unexpected when illness and death steps into their lives and a stranger comes along, upturning everything. For the best or worst, John has yet to find out.(I plan to post about every 7 to 10 days, depending. Tags and warnings will change/be added as we go along.)
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Kudos: 2





	and the sun turns to knight

Between the three men, they owned only one pair of shoes that didn’t resemble a moth-eaten curtain. This was not because of neglect on behalf of the other two men, but because Gregory had not been able to walk since his sickness overcame him, leaving the soles of his feet soft and shoes unmarked, and his backside flat and constantly sore.

It was not uncommon for them to go days without proper food. Even longer, if one didn’t consider scraps and the rarely pilfered pastry they stole from unsuspecting window sills where they were sat to cool. The horse, luckily, did not take notice of this, except for the fact that the man upon her back felt lighter and lighter as each day he was hoisted aloft. She took advantage of the fields of clover and the stray apple she might find on the side of the road as the men led her on.

There were clouds ahead of them and John, who didn’t need to witness the brewings of a storm to know one was coming, guided his company off the path they had been following for so long to take shelter under a bluff.

It was just after the sky split open and unleashed the most giant rain drops John had ever seen, that he looked over at his companion to comment on the turn of the weather, that he realized the man was dead.

“Gregory,” John could only whisper.

Gregory slept often since becoming ill and snored louder than John had ever thought possible of a man, on account of the mucus clogging Gregory’s airway.  
John tried again and the man still did not stir.

The sky was overcome with clouds, but the sun that was able to creep through produce a drear, grey light over everything. It made the dead man’s face all the more colorless.

John came to the conclusion that, even if he were to wake Gregory, the man would be of equal help as if he were still sleeping, and left his huddled form to go inspect the lifeless body just across from him.

The chest was stock-still and the eyes shut, mimicking Gregory’s state of sleep. He looked peaceful, John thought. His mother had said that about his father when he had died. He looked peaceful and died peaceful, with no concerns about his wife or children keeping him drawn to the side of the living. He was never a man to take responsibility onto himself. The dead man before him now was very much the same in that respect; he left John to fend for himself and Gregory alone, now.  
Exactly how was John supposed to do that? He had few belongings and no means of money.

_“I’m slowing,” He had said._

_John didn’t know what to say, and so he said nothing and continued walking, though his pace slowed to match his companion’s._

_“This journey, I’m afraid, is pointless. Even if we make it to Swillington… It’d be too humiliating. I’d rather die here on this road. Let the birds feast on me. At least then I’d be useful for something.”_

_John’s chest ached; a familiar feeling. He’d known for a while that his leige was doing too poorly to place at any event in Swillington. A part of him thought, perhaps, himself and Gregory would be allowed to part ways with the nobleman with a few schillings and a favorable word to pass on to another knight looking for a couple squires._

That was all impossible now. John looked at the knight’s face and wished to take that peaceful expression away.

“Damn you!”

Only an amount of incredible strength kept John from spitting on the man’s slack face.

“What’s happening?”

Greg was struggling to sit upright when his eyes met John’s through the grey and he stilled. Before John could speak, a terrible strike of lightning turned everything -the trees, the bluff, and the men taking shelter beneath it- aglow. In this breif moment of visibility, Greg saw his friend standing over the unbreathing form of their liege and gasped.

“You killed him?”

John shook his head. “I should have for all the good he’s done us,” He spoke quietly.

Greg’s head hung low and he coughed for several minutes, his chest rumbling worse than the thunder above.

With a deep breath, in and out, John sank back to the floor. He did not spare another glance over his shoulder. “Rest. In the morning you, me, and the horse’ll ride to Swillington. There has to be someone that could use a set of strong hands.”

Despite his poor state and being given the horrible reality that the knight he squired all his life was now dead, Greg laughed.

John did not let this deture him. “I’ll scoop the horse stables if I must.” He moved closer and leaned into Greg, eyes burning. “We’ll go to Swillington. I’ll find work and  
then I’ll get you a doctor. Medicine. Food-”

“Shoes.”

“Yes,” John agreed. “And if it’s steady work, perhaps I’ll be taken on. I can explain your situation and as soon as you’re well enough, we can both-”

Greg laughed again, a dark, sickly sound. “My situation? How about our situation, John? We can’t very well show up on a horse without a knight-”

“Then I will be our knight.”

Greg’s face distorted. So much so that it made John’s stomach uneasy.

“You listen,” Greg began in a voice that begged no argument. “This might seem like a sign from God, but it’s not Him. You are no one. I am no one. We were born as no ones and we will die as no ones, without fanfare or parade. Now, I know you might not like that, but it is a fact. It cannot be changed, no matter that it seems as if the pieces are all falling into place. If you want to go forward pretending to be something you are not, I will not be behind you. I’ll die here rather than at the gallows. Or worse, ridiculed at the stocks.”

John could only breathe.

“I will not leave you to die.”

“Then shut up about this silly dream of yours! I say we go back-”

The birds that had sought shelter from the downpour startled and burst upwards into the storm when a scream pierced through the fog. The mens’ attention changed from one another and they looked out, away from the bluff, and saw no one.

The birds were just beginning to calm again when it happened again. This time, John did not stay still.

He could hear Greg yelling after him, but was quickly swallowed by the sounds of the wilderness and the growing distance John was putting between them.

Again, the screaming. It was coming just from the left, back from the path they had been following. Looking back, John would observe this moment more closely and think to himself that he should have stopped and turned back and headed back home like Greg had been urging him to do.

He paused. The screaming had stopped. All he could hear above the sounds of the wild was his own ragged breathing. It happened just as John opened his mouth to call out.

A knife. No more than four inches long, but sharp as anything he’d ever seen. Even out of his direct line of sight, John could tell the knife was of great quality by the weight of it resting against his jugular. One of his arms was wrenched behind his back. Pressed between his own back and the body of a stranger.

It was a man’s voice that slithered into his ear and spoke poison. “Don’t bother with crying out. Your companion would be of little help even if he could traverse this distance in his state.”

This was true. John didn’t dare swallow. His back was straight as a rod. His arm felt as if it had been struck by lightning. Wet hair clung to his face. Hot breath traced across his cheek, a sickly relief from the bitter rain. These (and not to forget the knife, of course) were the only things keeping John from believing he was not actually struck down by God.

Still, it was not in his nature to bend.

“I have a horse.” It was his only bargaining chip.

John swore he could feel his attacker scoff. “I know. You’re going to bring it to me.”

Just how the man would get John to do such a thing, the simple man could not imagine. As it turned out, the threat was simple, but nonetheless effective; John would walk the horse away from the bluff and hand it off to his assailant, along with the last of the carrots they had for feed. In return, the assailant would not slit his throat.

John grit his teeth; he wasn’t one to allow his hand to be forced.

Muscles of his abdomen clenched as his arm was firmly locked behind his back for another excruciating second before being released. “Don’t run.”

John couldn’t. He wouldn’t leave Gregory behind to save himself and his friend was too sick to flee with him. His attacker knew this as well.

There was only one thing to do.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been in the fandom since the airing of season two and have always read fic and done RPs (oof), even written my own dabbles, but never posted anything until now. This story just kind of came to me, and while I do have most of it mapped out, not all of it is written in stone and absolutely NONE of it has been beta'd. So, if you feel inclined, leave any mistakes found in the comments or shoot me a message. It won't go unappreciated! 
> 
> Thanks in advance for checking this out! :)


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